


Right Way, The

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 00:46:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11346531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atThe Basement, which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onThe Basement's collection profile.





	Right Way, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

The Right Way by dbkate

Slashx: 11 August 1998  
ArchiveX: 16 August 1998  
Category: M/K slash  
Rating: NC-17 (for angst and adult themes)  
Spoilers: Up to US Season Five  
Archive: ArchiveX is okay. Nowhere else please.  
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. CC does  
Feedback: All and any is welcome.  
Thanks to Te, Alicia and Zoot for beta-reading. 

* * *

The Right Way  
by dbkate  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was only an experiment, really.

I just wanted to see if it would work, if I could actually do it -- single handedly, so to speak.

It wasn't supposed to be that difficult, but the razor kept slipping out from between my teeth. The metal was hard to bite, and I was worried about my tongue for some odd reason. It was a single edge blade, I wasn't stupid, but it was hot in that bathroom, and the air was slippery wet.

I bit down on the razor, ignored the ache in my front teeth, and tried it again.

Leaned back, wrist to lips, a sliding kiss.

It hurt, the motherfucker, more than it was supposed to, and the slice zigzagged. A hesitation mark they would call it, even when I had no hesitation in mind.

It was just an experiment, remember.

But another inch and it was finished, and the fine lines of red were just beginning to pool inside my elbow. Down in the water it went, drowning, billowing red floating water-silk it was now, and I slid down further into the tub. Better ... better than drugs, the lazy draining cotton-cloud feeling that took hold. 

I could sleep now -- for the first time in months.

I could sleep forever now. For the last time in my life.

Whatever.

I saw no scenes from a life poorly lived, didn't see my ma, didn't see my pa, didn't see Uncle Shatzie with his dominos and quart bottle, saw nothing but crimson dusk, the reflection of the blood inside my eyelids, slowing fading to white.

It was good. So, so good.

Until he yanked me out from underneath the pretty pink water.

Until he dragged me out of the tub, hissing and spitting my name, my leg scraping against the shower guard. Until he held my only arm up so high over my head, and wrapped the towel around my wrist so tightly, it hurt worse than when they chopped the other one off, the motherfuckers.

He was a motherfucker too, but I didn't have the strength to say it.

"Asshole," he hissed, again and again, and again. "You're such an asshole, Krycek."

What was I supposed to say to that?

I could feel myself sliding on the tiles, leaving smooth red lines atop their blue flowered edges. I was a human brush, a blood painter, and I liked the piece that I was creating. He was still trying to get me to sit up; he even slapped me and the pain was annoying, like a bee sting on your cheek.

I tried to spit at him, but my mouth was too dry.

He didn't notice. "I didn't expect this of you. I figured rats were too fond of their own skins." He was muttering and rolling out toilet paper, making pointless swipes at the floor. He threw it away, soggy red and he missed, hitting the toilet bowl on its side.

"Why?" he asked me, and I saw exactly what I was trying to escape from, blurring the hazel of his eyes.

"Dunno," I answered, my voice returning, but sandpaper fine.

"I came here to find you, you said you would help, I thought you would help..." The words were reeling from his lips and he was speaking in tongues I didn't understand.

"Never said that," I replied, wishing for the water and the sleep.

"You weren't supposed to do this," he said. With anger.

I wanted to explain about the experiment, but I was suddenly too tired to bother. And cold. Did I tell you that I was cold? Shivering, wet, freezing cold, bone-shaking frost cold right down to my feet.

He didn't notice. I don't think he cared.

He became the sheriff he'd always dreamed of. White hats and yahoo. "You know something, Krycek? You did it all wrong. If you're going to do it, you should do it right."

Do it right. That's the goal of any experiment. To do it right.

I nodded. Wanting to hear the rest.

He leaned in, his lips against my ear, making it the only warm spot on my body. "You have to slice down the vein, Krycek. Not across. No one can help you that way, and you can go to hell without looking back."

I shook my head at him. With chattering teeth, tears sliding down my chin. "Can't."

"Why not?" he whispered. "Why not, asshole?"

"Only got one hand." And, suddenly, I was laughing, laughing harder than I ever had -- even after Curzon's funeral, even after I'd killed the old man in the parked car and had forgotten the about the brake, and together we rolled down that hill in San Francisco, finally crashing into that house, his head bouncing off the steering wheel at every bump, and the horn going beep, beep, beep, beep, all the way home.

But Mulder only glared at me. God, how he hated me.

And I think I loved him. "You need two," I explained. I'm the scientist here, Mulder, not you. It's my experiment, not yours. Go back to your safe place. Your dark place.

There's too much light here for you.

You can't handle it.

"Asshole," he hissed again, and he tore at my cheeks with cold fingers and took my mouth beneath his.

And I felt the warm water again. And I was drowning under his kiss, and better... oh, better than drugs it was, a lazy, draining cotton-cloud feeling that took its hold as he stroked my tongue with his.

I could live now -- for the first time in months.

I could live forever now. For the first time in my life.

I tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let me, he held tight, his fingers curling into fists against my cheeks, kissing harder, bruising my lips, hurting my mouth. Soon, I saw the white behind my eyelids fade, and the reflection of the blood return to me, turning back into its crimson dusk.

And it was good. So, so good.

~~~~~~~~  
DBKate, 1998  



End file.
